


Collectors (Run)

by Betweenusthree



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gay Male Character, Gen, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Original Universe, Outer Space, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Science Fiction, Superpowers, This is my first story thanks for understanding, would love some comments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:07:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betweenusthree/pseuds/Betweenusthree
Summary: Emma loves working at Time Again, an antique store where she can flex her history degree. Dylan visits everyday to gossip, discuss cryptids, and recast their favorite movies. Life is simple and slow--until a man walks in and brings out a side of Dylan, as well as an intergalactic war, she never knew existed.--------------------------Cross-posted on Wattpad.





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work and I'm excited to share it for the first time. "Collectors" is an unbeta'd wip that may be edited as the story progresses. If so, changes will be noted for readers. I'm excited to bring you on this journey with Emma!

Run. That's all I seem to do lately; run from Collectors, run for my life, run out of time.

Trees blur past me, shielding the figures chasing after me. No, they weren't chasing; they were taunting. This type of Collector is faster than humans, similar to our cheetahs. They could catch up to me with little effort. They want me to think I have a chance to escape, a chance to warn the others that we’ve been found.

I break into a clearing. They must have decided I was boring; before I can get out of the middle, I'm surrounded. Looking at their leers, I think back to when this started.


	2. The Beginning

The morning it all started, I woke up, got dressed for the day, and burnt my tongue on hot chocolate like I do every morning. I do remember it felt like spring that day. The sun didn’t burn when you stepped outside, it warmed you when the breeze blew. I decided to walk to work to enjoy the weather before being stuck inside all day. A new shipment of Victorian rugs was delivered the day before and I needed to catalog them no matter how long it took.

I only took a lunch break that day and only because I knew Dylan would be on my case if I skipped lunch for work.

Dylan was a freelance web designer and had a lot of free time on his hands. The good part about that was our standing lunch dates where he would bring me home cooked meals. The bad part was that he hung around the shop until close once we finished. Some shops have cats that hang around, I have him. It wouldn’t have been that bad if he didn’t have to touch everything and “reorganize” my displays, but alas. 

Our conversations varied; some days we spoke about the strangers that passed by the shop window and tried to figure out their lives (the woman that walked her two corgis was definitely a spy at some point in her life and the little boys who played catch would absolutely be famous athletes one day). Other days we discussed our theories on aliens, yetis, and angels (I believed in all three, Dylan was only interested in aliens).

\-----

You couldn’t spot Dylan in a crowd. He was neither tall nor short, skinny nor fat. He was an average height with an average build and a traditionally good-looking face. When we met outside of the shop, I would have to scan cafes two or three times before finding him, so much so that we agreed not to stray from specific tables or sections in the future.

The only outwardly unique feature on Dylan was his birthmark. It was beautiful. Overlapping circles and squares laid in the middle of his palm; a miniature maze with no end.

After a few months I finally got the nerve to ask about it. He tried to play it off, said it was just a birthmark, but I could tell it was more than that. He constantly shelters that hand. It’s his dominant one, but when we drink coffee, he uses his left as if he’s afraid of burning his birthmark. When he’s nervous, instead of tapping his toes or his fingers on the table, he’ll tap his birthmark. Sometimes he looks at it as if that’s the only thing keeping him here; when Dylan talks about home, he unconsciously stares at it, as if doing so would take him back there.

I don’t know what changed, but he finally told me more. The mark started out small, originally just a tiny circle off-center of his heartline. Then it added onto itself; one day another circle appeared, then the next a large square. It took years for it to settle. He still didn't know if it was done just yet.

I told him if he didn't want to talk about it, he should have just said so, he didn't need to make up a ridiculous story. He laughed and apologized with an amused look on his face.

After two years, that's still the most we've talked about it.

It sounded impossible, surely that couldn't just happen. Birthmarks don't have minds of their own. Soon, I realized that impossible things do happen, and an ever-changing birthmark was just the start.

\----

That day we were debating the ugliest word ever invented. I chose “puce” and Dylan argued that it was actually "phlegm". 

Before things turned physical, a man walked in. He was balding, eyes too close together, and he possessed a terribly crooked nose. He had on a long trench coat like a wannabe detective. I greeted him, asked if he had any questions, and pointed him towards the collection of pewter lamps I was told to push to customers.

He thanked me and walked by, pausing to give Dylan an odd look. As the man passed into the other room, Dylan spoke, his voice deeper than any other time I’d heard it.

“Emma, take my keys and go to back to your apartment right now.”

I started to question him, ask if he was joking. Then I really looked at him. His ever-present smile and crow’s feet were replaced by a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. Anger and something like regret took over his frame. I was staring at a stranger.

His eyes didn’t leave the man’s direction.

I took the keys out of his outstretched hand, walked out the door into his car, and started driving home.

Then I circled back and parked in front of the shop. I couldn’t leave Dylan there despite what he said and no matter how much his reaction got to me.

I peeked through the shop’s window; nothing. Dylan must have followed him to the back. I snuck in, suddenly thankful our door didn’t have a welcome bell. I heard a hideous, animalistic roar and ran towards it.

The wannabe detective had morphed into some creature. His skin was swamp green with alternating feathers and scales. His eyes, while more fitting now, were still too close together. The remaining hair on his balding head morphed around him into a lion’s mane. His tattered trench coat was the only reason I recognized him as the man from before.

He was poised to attack Dylan with claws that he had formed. On his part, Dylan looked somewhat calm, but even I could feel his quiet rage. He lifted his hand. Dylan’s birthmark glowed red.

A part of his body had just glowed!

Light gathered around it and the next thing I knew it burst forth and hit the creature square in his chest. He was knocked back about ten feet, straight into the mid-fifteenth century rocking chairs. The creature got up, screeched, and sprang towards me. Dylan tackled me out of the way and the creature took that chance to run out the door, morphing back into a man along the way.

“What are you doing back here,” Dylan yelled.

“I came back to save you!”

“Well thanks, you did a great job.”

He grabbed my arm and dragged me outside to his car, only stopping to flip the store’s “Open” sign to “Closed.” He pushed me towards the driver’s seat. As shocked as I was, we both knew I was still a better driver than him.

"Holy shit, what was that?!"

"It was a low-level Collector. Wait, take a right here."

"A what?"

"A right turn."

"Dylan, now is not the time to be an asshole. What was that?"

“I can’t explain everything right now. Let’s just say that your world isn’t alone. That Collector is just one of many species that occupy this universe. I am too, but trust me, I’m not here to take over the world. You probably don’t believe me, but if the last two years mean anything to you, you’ll wait for me to explain.”

"…Is your name even freaking Dylan?"

"Just Dylan, no freaking."

"Be serious!"

"Listen Emma, I know how you get when you freak out-"

"I have a good reason to freak out!"

"- but you need to just calm down. Breathe and take the next left after this light."

"Where the hell are we going?"

"Hopefully somewhere safe."

"Not hopefully. After that you better be taking me to a nuclear bunker."

I must be crazy.


	3. Hitting it Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Dylan's first meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a flashback. Please comment if you prefer flashback chapters be italicized. Thank you!

“Mom, can you please just give me a hint? I know you won’t be happy with whatever I get you…yeah, what about that Elizabethan mirror I bought you last year? You put it in the attic!”

My flailing hand connected with something soft.

“Oh shi-oot. I’m so sorry! No, not you mom, I’ll call you back.”

I hung up my phone and looked at the guy I hit in the face. He was holding his eye and – oh God, is that blood?

I grabbed his arm, “Come on, I think there’s a bathroom over here. God, I’m so sorry,” and pushed him into the men’s room.

I stood outside and waited. After five minutes I was itching to go in and check on him, but I couldn't get kicked out of the mall until after I was sure he was alright. Besides, I still needed to buy my parents a damn anniversary gift.

Another few minutes passed (seriously what was he doing in there) before he finally came out.

He looked okay, no scrapes which thankfully meant no bleeding. His face looked slightly swollen, but I could live with that. 

“I just want to say, I’m so, so, so, sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m fine-”

“You’re sure? I didn’t blind you or anything?”

“No-”

“Good, I was freaking out, in all fairness though, my wingspan isn’t that big, if you hadn’t been so close to me-”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“-not that it was your fault, you should just wear a bell or something and I’m rambling now aren’t I?”

“No, not if you always talk like this.”

“I’m normally more composed.”

“Then yeah, you’re rambling, but I don’t mind.”

Our first conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter, but I think most of the flashbacks will be. Yes, please expect more flashbacks either in the story or as separate stories that will be noted in chapter. Thank you! I appreciate the support :)


	4. Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting some of the crew

The rest of the drive was spent in tense silence, broken only by Dylan's sporadic directions. After an hour, we pulled up in front of abandoned warehouses. I didn't even know abandoned warehouse districts were a thing outside of movies. I parked in front of the twelfth building and Dylan reached over to flash the lights and honk the horn in a random pattern. He waited a few seconds before telling me to get out of the car.

"What was that about?” I asked, as we walked around the building to a side door.

"A signal for Daniel not to kill you."

"Oh cool, thanks for not forgetting to do that."

He turned and gave me a small side-smile. He looked like the Dylan I thought I knew.

My heart constricted at the brief thought that everything was a lie. Somehow, I knew it wasn't. If I was in his shoes, would I have told him? If it put him in danger, like this morning, I'd keep it to myself as long as possible too.

We’d only known each other for two years, but it felt longer.

Dylan and I had both admitted, on several occasions, that it was crazy how quickly we became close. He covers his birthmark as much as possible, even if it’s just laying his hand flat against his leg, but he never hides it from me. I wanted to open a museum, fill it with any history I could, and be proud, even if I was the only patron. Dylan reassured that I wouldn’t be the only one there, he would be as well, or how else would I get lunch every day?

This friendship has meant something and I’m not just going to throw it away.

Dylan led me into a room occupied by two other people standing in front of a busy table. They looked like they were expecting us; arms crossed, brows creased, very obvious knives placed in hands-reach. Dylan cut in before they could start a conversation that I’m sure would have felt like more of an interrogation.

"Emma, this is Rahema and Kal. Rahema, Kal, this is Emma and she's not going to kill or expose us, so get whatever thoughts you have out of your heads right now. I know we agreed to keep this from her, but there was an incident."

"What incident," Rahema didn’t question, but demanded with hardened eyes.

Dylan proceeded to explain what happened at the shop this morning while I took everything in.

Rahema was a leggy brunette with dark skin. Her hair was cut into a short, curly afro. She was muscular, but not overtly so. She looked serious and spoke harshly, almost without meaning to.  
Kal was built. He had muscles on top of muscles. He was short and pale with a blonde mohawk flopping into his eyes. He was the complete opposite of Rahema. He didn’t speak once. He kept looking Dylan up and down, checking for injuries, not seeming to care about anyone else in the room.

The room itself looked like a conspiracy theorist’s dream; papers pinned to the wall, mugshot looking sketches hung next to pictures of animals, sleek monitors running locations against…cell towers? Was that legal or did they have some alien jurisdiction?

They must have had an argument at some point, because when I focused again, they were all glaring at each other. I decided to help break the awkward silence.

"Who's Daniel?"

Rahema looked even more pissed.

"How do you know about him?"

"Dylan mentioned him when we got here, something about him shooting people. Where is he?”

Kal supplied that he was at his 'lookout point, scouting' like that was supposed to make perfect sense.

"Okay. Now Dylan, you said you'd tell me what’s going on, get to it."

The three shared a glance before Dylan sighed and reluctantly started his story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cliffhanger! I'm still editing the next chapter, but it should be up real soon.


	5. History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look into Collector history.

Back in Dylan’s world (it’s still weird to say that) there was a monarchy. Their history isn’t one of oppression or rebellion or the want of a democracy. Though I’m sure things would be different if there was a senate to please or a Caligula on the throne. That just wasn’t the case. His people loved the monarchs.

This isn’t a civil war Dylan’s fighting in. It’s much bigger.

They gave no warning, just attacked. It was rumored that that was how they always fought. This wasn’t the first planet they tried to own.

They’re a species so ancient and yet their names have been lost to time. They are simply known as the Collectors.  
They had a home of their own once, but got too close to their sun. For a culture so advanced, they’d had little warning. They were able to evacuate a small percent of the civilian population on a carrier ship; the rest of the survivors were military personnel stationed far enough away to avoid the star’s collapse.

Since then they’ve taken to invading other planets and depleting their resources. Dylan’s home was the only one with enough power to defend themselves and their allies. They’ve been warring with the Collectors for hundreds of years now and Earth may be the deciding factor in this fight. 

\----

Once he finished, I let the information sink in. They all looked at me expectantly, waiting for something.

"Oh God, please tell me I'm not some lost, alien princess or something and I’m Earth’s only hope!"

Kal said, "Sorry, but you are." He didn't sound too sorry.

"You have got to be joking me."

"I am, but that would have been great right?"

"Kal stop being a dick. Emma, you're not special...that came out wrong." Dylan gave a withering sigh again; it seemed to become a new habit of his. "The only reason you might be on the Collectors' radar is because you were with me this morning. When that Collector saw me, he looked just as surprised as I did, he wasn't expecting to see me there. We don't know if he got word to his companions before I confronted him, but I didn't want to take any chances. That's why I brought you with me."

"Then why did you send me away at first? And how did you even recognize him? Do they have a...a specific smell or something? What do your people look like?"

"I was always going to come back for you. I would have liked time to report back to Rahema and figure out how to explain everything to you in a more eloquent manner. Obviously, that didn't happen.

“Collectors have different races, like humans, but the easiest way to explain it is that they look like Earth animal hybrids. While our planets are different, humans resemble my people a great deal. We don’t need to wear disguises here. My people have powers too, some that we all possess and some that are unique to each individual. One of my special capabilities is being able to see past any kind of disguise. It was never really useful until this war."

"War. Okay, wait, why is Earth the deciding factor? You kind of skipped that part.”

“You have resources.”

“Really? Scientists say we're running out.”

“Maybe for your needs,” Kal said, as if speaking to a child.

Seeing the annoyance on my face, Rahema gave me the extended version.

“Of all the planets in this galaxy, Earth most closely mirrors their old home. They’re almost identical except for your Sun. The Collectors are starting to lose momentum and numbers; if they gained a stable environment, both would increase dramatically. We have to prevent that. Right now, only certain kinds of Collectors can make it through your atmosphere. Whoever can is working on a way to bring their companions in. Our people are able to pass back and forth between worlds easily. We’re trying to strengthen whatever’s keeping them out and killing those that have gotten through.” 

As she spoke, I imagined my parents. They’re on their second, extended honeymoon. They retired and started traveling the world. That week they were supposed to start their stay in Egypt. Before, I was worried about them losing their passports or wandering into the wrong hotel. In that moment I worried they’d stumble into the alien I saw.

I imagined Mrs. Palovtich, the old woman who came into the shop every Wednesday to check our porcelain doll collection for her granddaughter. Her daughter and son-in-law were busy with work and her granddaughter was too young for dolls she couldn’t play with. I tried to always think of something for us to talk about, to keep her company for the few minutes I could. I remembered Mr. Carlsworth who demanded we constantly update him on our luggage shipment, hoping for a piece he lost somewhere in 1982. Dr. and Mr. Dawson who collected Arabic rugs to hang as tapestries instead of wallpaper in their apartment.

Every customer I’d ever dealt with, every barista I’d ever ordered from, every person I’d met and those I hadn’t occupied my mind. They didn’t know that Collectors were disguised as one of us, they didn’t know that the Earth was in the middle of a war, and I knew I had to do something about it.

“Obviously I'm involved in this now, so tell me how I can help.”

“Help? You’re not doing anything to put yourself in danger! I won’t let you,” Dylan shouted alarmed.

“Dylan, Earth is my home and you’re my friend. Of course I’m going to be involved in this! What made you think I wouldn’t be?”

Before we could finish arguing, one of the computers started beeping like crazy. A printer I hadn’t seen before started shooting papers out.

“I’m guessing that’s not a good sign.”

No one laughed, instead they ran to look at the sheets.

As they debated what was happening and what the pages could mean, I had a sudden thought;

How did that Collector recognize Dylan?


End file.
